


Aragonesa

by sunspeared



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, empires are dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-15
Updated: 2011-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunspeared/pseuds/sunspeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because their kingdoms are joined by blood doesn't mean they have to sleep together. They just want to. (Austria would like to think she could get along perfectly well without it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aragonesa

**Author's Note:**

> The lady doth protest too much. Titled after [this.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITjTfFj9MZI)
> 
> Written for the 2011 round of aph_historyswap on LJ, for inquisitorial, who prompted, "Austria/Spain please! I would totally love one of them to be genderbent, it doesn't matter to me who. I would very much to see some kind of culture exchange between the two (music, art and especially language). I would also love to see them being portrayed as not being a happy couple, having major disagreements that could lead to fights between the two. Sex is totally alright with me," which is pretty much everything I've ever needed an excuse to write Spain and (genderbent!)Austria getting up to.

_Autumn of 1615._

*

Her first, second, and third missteps had been going to bed with him; everything else was inconsequential and, above all, fixable, once she managed to stop him dragging her to every corner of his land. Zaragosa was a lovely city, she was sure, but all she'd seen since her glimpse of the Palacio de la Aljafería was the ceiling of Spain's bedchamber.

At least this was a secret visit. At least she didn't have to deal with emperors, or kings, or their retinues, or protocol.

"Spanien." Austria shrugged hard, trying to roll his naked form off of her back. "Let me up."

The tall posts of Spain's bed were all she could see, but at least he had a proper bed in his house in Zaragosa. "But you're warm," he said. The cots in Madrid, the absurd seraglio of a room in the town in Cataluña -- she shrugged harder, but he held her fast, like a great not-wholly-human blanket.

"It's you," she said, "you and the blankets, now, please -- "

Spain ran his lips up the back of her neck, and she stilled. "We'll go to Sevilla tomorrow," he said, and she felt his mouth curve up against her skin. _Insolent,_ she though. But she gave up trying to push. "It's not cold yet there."

"I would appreciate that." One of his fingers teased her between her legs, trying to get her to part them. "I would not appreciate _that."_

"Austria."

"Spanien."

She kicked at his shin, and he huffed out a laugh against her shoulder, then shoved his knee between her thighs. "We can go to Gibraltar and look across."

"I don't see the point," Austria said. She managed to turn enough that she look at the rest of the room, decorated in the blinding red-and-yellow of Aragón. Her chemise was draped over a garish, winged armchair; in their haste, he'd torn it down the front. It wasn't entirely his fault. She'd given into the temptation to tease him at dinner, under the table, just to watch him try to keep his smile in place in front of his dinner guests.

She shifted, uneasy, when he said, "We could get sweet things," right into the skin beneath her ear -- in German, no less. _Süßes._ He made it sound like a promise. "I'd teach you to say all their names."

When his knee slid up a little higher, she arched away from him, rather than settling toward his body. There would be no fourth misstep, not when they could be torn apart at any moment. "It sounds diverting, yes," she said, "and when will you visit me in Vienna?"

"Whenever you want."

You've been saying that for centuries."

"But I mean it this time," Spain said, rubbing the point of his jaw against her neck. He wouldn't have sounded solemn with an entire regiment's worth of muskets pressed to his forehead. "I'll come in the winter and keep you warm."

He closed the gap between their bodies, half-hard against her back, humming tunelessly, just to irritate her. "And if you come in the summer?" she said. _No fourth misstep_. She lay inert when he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"You can pretend I'm your cousin, we can go to balls, I'll dress up like a gentleman for you." He gave her a little squeeze. "Unless you want to show off a sailor you picked up? As a guard? And dressed up for the occasion, to have on your arm?"

"And whom I find myself overcome with lust for in the carriage on the ride home?"

"If you wanted."

"Tell me about the sweet things in Seville."

"Sevilla," he corrected. She parroted his pronunciation -- one did not encompass so much territory as her emperors did and not pick up languages like bad habits -- and itched to turn over and slap his face for his tone. But he held her fast, and went on, "There are things that'll make your _teeth_ hurt when you drink them."

"Oh?" His arms loosened, and Austria took the chance to lay on her back, though she didn't sit up yet. He would only pull her down. "I appreciate your tireless efforts to bridge our cultural gap. Really, Spanien, if you were more persistent, I wouldn't be able to walk."

Spain hauled himself upright, looked down at her. "We can test that, if you want." She sucked in her teeth at the loss of his heat, and then resigned herself to appreciating the glory of the male form. It was difficult work. _Someone_ had to do it. There was a ridged, diagonal scar along his abdomen, from his heart to his hipbone; she was forward in bed, but she'd never thought to trace it with her mouth, or even thought to ask him whether he'd like it.

And she was too old for modesty, but she still slapped his hand away when he reached out to pull the blankets about her waist. "Ask first; I'm not your wife." He didn't adore _her_ , after all, he loved the idea of her, the symbol of the Habsburgs in the glittering Vienna they made their theater -- the idea of taking _that_ to wife.

"That's what you said in Madrid, and -- "

"It bears repeating."

"Let me see." He yanked the blanket off before she could protest, humming his approval, ducking his head down to take her nipple in his mouth. It was not in her to bark out orders; she was no sergeant, to command him in bed, and let him play as he wished, one hand on the breast he wasn't mouthing at, the other sliding down her stomach, agonizingly slow, to make his most valiant effort at stroking her between her legs. He could play her like a viol, strum her like a lyre, and she forgot when they were apart. "I miss you when you're gone," he said, "or when I leave, and you're going to tell me I'm an idiot, because it's only been twenty years, right?"

 _He's going to kill me_ , Austria thought, trying half-heartedly to twist her hips away from his touch. Spain would be the death of her, but in the warmest, sweetest way. "It's been twenty-three years."

"I know." Resting his chin on her chest, he grinned up at her, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with the force of it. But his hand -- she gave in pressed into it "You keep track?"

"I have to do _something_ to pass the time," she said.

"Like… collecting things."

"You could say that." She didn't like the gleam his eyes had in the half-light filtering in through his drapes. Not one bit. "Are you suggesting something?"

"No!" he said. "Just -- "

"You're asking me whether I keep lovers."

"Maybe." Spain at least had the grace to look guilty, in the way a boy caught sticking his finger into a sugar bowl looked guilty, and the comparison was apropos even if she ignored what his hand was doing to her.

"Ask."

She shut her eyes and didn't open them until he knelt over her and kissed her eyelids. "I don't care, not really. I won't see you for another thirty years, and," he said, "we don't have to follow the rules." He pointed upward, then crossed himself anyway.

"Don't let your young charge hear you say that," Austria muttered, more darkly than she would have liked. "And you?"

"Me?"

"Mistresses," she said, "or gentlemen of the back door, whichever you find yourself preferring this century."

"Ah, Austria." Spain's tone was deceptively light. "I didn't know _you_ cared."

"So you've been making love to Großbrittanien."

To her surprise, he slapped the side of her breast; she grabbed his chin and squeezed it, hard, and for a long moment they weren't man and woman, they were two halves of an empire, staring one another down. But Spain looked away first, and kissed the place he'd hit. "Not Inglaterra," he said, "I have taste, and next, you guess Francia?"

"You know me too well," she said, stroking the back of his head, then his neck.

Spain's mouth moved down to lavish attention on dip in her waist, the underside of the breast, and Austria's toes curled. "I know you better than anyone."

It wasn't true. She didn't correct his impression. "Answer the question, Spanien."

"The noble ladies like me," he said, "widowed ones, who know what they want from a young man," and he chuckled like that was funny, and she supposed it was. "I let them teach me things." He rested his cheek on her stomach. "Let them think they're teaching me things."

Austria reached over to the bedside table for her glasses, but her hand faltered and gave up when Spain began kissing his way lower, and lower. "Don't," she said, pinching him and trying to yank him back up her body.

"Why?"

"Tell me about the gentleman," she said, then gave up pulling, "there must be gentlemen."

"Sailors."

"Is that all?"

"Jealous?"

"I'm merely curious." If she'd been standing up -- if Spain hadn't been doing his best to pin the lower half of her to the bed -- "I, for one, have a special fondness for manservants."

"Like Hungría?"

Austria scratched the back of his neck. "Don't insult me."

"I was just asking!" Spain fell silent, nuzzled at whatever parts of her he could reach. "And -- you only have a part of him, don't you."

"The way you only have a part of Italien, yes."

"Not fair," he said, then bit at the soft spot inside her hipbone.

She gasped and came just short of wrenching his head off of her, but pulled it gently, instead. "Empire isn't fair."

"That's easy to say when you just marry into it, huh."

\-- as though her people hadn't fought wars, as though she hadn't bled and starved like all the rest of them -- she kicked her way out from under him and sat against the plain oak headboard, dragging the covers up to hide herself from him. "Get out."

"My house," Spain said, singsong. "My bed."

"You're being rude, I won't stand for it." She put a hand on his chest when he knelt over her, presumably to try to kiss her anger away -- she didn't care.

"I was joking, I was joking." Back to Spanish. He pushed past her attempt to stave him off and pressed his lips to her nose, then scattered kisses all over her cheeks. "You're awfully sensitive."

"Don't try it," she said, "no innuendo. I had my share of it the last time I visited Frankreich."

"What for?"

"Wine and cheese. An exchange."

Spain stopped kissing her and sat back, cross-legged, seemingly heedless of his erection. "Bridging your cultural gap?"

He arched his back and yawned, and she averted her eyes before she could remind herself to stare him down. The crack of his spine made her stomach turn.

And then someone knocked at the door. _Servant,_ Spain mouthed, but he didn't bother to cover himself when the young man -- the exceptionally handsome young man -- walked in on his master with a tray of breakfast and stack of papers, without being invited. Austria would have had the boy flogged, but Spain gave him a nod.

"Manservants," she said, once he was gone. Someone also had a predilection for them. "What's his name?"

"Tomas." With a little hop, he turned so he sat against the headboard with her, resting the side of his face on the top of her head. Any moment, he would turn and take her into his arms. "His great-grandfather served me, too. Oh, he thought you were pretty -- Tomas, not his grandfather."

"How old?"

"Nineteen? I think. Last time I checked." And who knew when that was; for all she knew, he was twenty-seven. They all started to look the same after a while. _Young_.

The hour was barbaric, but the sun beyond the drapes was getting higher in the sky, and all she wanted to do was curl up under the blankets. With or without him, it didn't matter. "He thinks I'm your cousin, doesn't he."

And, sure enough, Spain put his arms around her and pulled her close -- he was still hard. She would not feel obliged to give him relief. She would _not_ , for all that she was tempted. "Guilty!" he said. "And even if he didn't, he'd nod along and pretend he did."

"And what do you do to ensure such" -- his hand snaked under Austria's arm, cupping one of her breasts, running the pad of a single finger over a nipple -- "loyalty," she choked, "such integrity, surely, servants talk, it's the way of things."

"I pay him." The emphasis on _pay_ was so small she would have missed it if she hadn't been expecting it. "I make him comfortable."

Austria tested the strength of his grip and found him unwilling to let her go, and so she moved toward him, swinging one leg over his hips to straddle him, and now _she_ was the attacker, she had him had him trapped and where she wanted him. And she did -- want him. But she kept her lower body out of reach of his cock, and his eyebrows knit when he tried to nudge at her and she wouldn't give him what he wanted. Murmuring her name, he reached for her, and she snatched his hands and put them against the headboard. "Keep them there," she said. "Don't touch me until I say."

She would never mistake his sweet disposition for idiocy, but if Spain thought of this as anything more serious than a game she liked to play, no different than his teasing her until she begged for him to stop, he'd never given any indication. He didn't smile. "What if you're too pretty and I can't help myself?" he asked, then hissed when she took him into her hand, but didn't stroke.

"I would like to think you have more control than that, Spanien." She enjoyed the feel of him for a moment, laying a hand on his thigh to feel the muscles clench under her touch as he strained to keep himself still. Then she kissed his jaw and pulled away slow enough that his head followed hers; but the backs of his hands stayed pressed to the headboard.

 _Good boy,_ Austria thought, and glanced at their breakfast from the corner of her eye. She would have to finish this before it grew cold. A beautiful cock, after all, was no excuse to waste good food. "Where did you last have Tomas?" she asked. She shifted forward and spoke against his lips, ignoring the insistent pulse between her legs in favor of squeezing him, hard, then kissed him as she rubbed herself against him but did not take him in her, would not give him that relief yet.

"This bed." Spain squeezed his eyes shut, chest heaving against hers.

His arms must have been trembling, the blood rushing from his hands. This came too naturally to them -- a momentary distraction from the truth of what they were. "Who else have you had in this bed since I was last here?"

"Francia," he said, and before she snapped at him he said, " _Frankreich_ ," and went on, "he, ah, he came here, and I hate him but he wanted me to hit him" -- _the way you do_ , he refrained from saying, mercifully, but she could hear the shade of it in his tone -- "and I don't hate him that much, it's just -- _I_ don't hate him. But I do."

Austria nipped at his lower lip and narrowly avoided his attempt to turn it into a proper kiss. "Be more succinct."

Now she traced her hand over the scar on his stomach, as his eyes searched her face. "Gut shot," he said, "it was little, but it grew." From famine, from debt, from war. "Can I touch you yet?"

Any other time, she would have slapped him, it was allowed, but the edge to his voice as she stroked along his scar gave her pause. "Großbrittanien gave you this." Her heart beat in her ears at the thought of him in battle, bleeding on the deck of a ship, gritting his teeth and standing over England's prone form; her pulse pounded between her legs, and it was all she could do to keep up the flow of conversation and not tell him that, yes, the game was over, he was more than welcome to touch her. "Do you enjoy having it touched?"

"Breakfast is getting cold." Spain licked his lips.

"Answer me."

She stroked her hands down his chest to rest them on his sides, shifting so close to him that it was torture for them both for her not to hold him steady and sink down on him: and still, his hands didn't move. "It depends," he said, "it depends on who's touching it" -- and then he shut his eyes and shoved his hips up hard at her. "Portugal, my sister -- I don't like it when she does."

"And Frankreich?" Austria said. By all rights, she should have walked away and left him wanting long ago.

"He's fine, and I like it when you do it, now, _please_ ," he said, "Österreich," he said, and stared up at her with such want in his green eyes that she reached up and plucked his hands off of the headboard to put them on her waist as she took him in her, and she was still sore and battered from last night, and groaned. The sound mingled into Spain's as he stroked his hands down to the curve of her hips, up to her ribs, then squeezed her bottom, made her move on him. She clutched at his shoulders and buried her face in the side of his neck, let him use her as he pleased.

When he slammed her onto her back, still moving in of her -- she didn't complain, she was beyond complaint; this tender violence, so different from Hungary or France, was why she would always succumb to him. He changed his angle so he hit something deep inside of her, and when her eyes flew open she saw him staring down, skewering her on his absolute focus.

"Spanien," she murmured, and held his gaze with her own. She fanned her hands out on him to feel the muscles move under his skin. "Slower, I need slow."

Spain pulled all the way out of her -- the control, it would have been impressive had she not lost her own in that moment and tried to wrap her legs around him, to pull him back in somehow. "What if I don't want to?" He gripped her hip hard. "What if I make you ask, hmm?"

He only teased at her for a second before thrusting, so hard that it turned her breath ragged and shallow, then held himself still. It... was a kind of slow, he _was_ giving her what she wanted, but not near _enough_ of it, and she bucked her hips hard against him, for any friction at all.

Outside the room, two servants passed each other and exchanged a word or two, and Austria went absolutely still.

"They don't care." Spain drew his hips back again, and her whole body protested. The sounds she made came from a deep, undignified place in her, where her nerves were rubbed raw, her whole body throbbing for him to drive into her. She slid her hands up to tangle in his thick hair, tugging as hard as she could. If she made him _angry_ , perhaps --

\-- but he was not an angry man, or an angry nation, and his mouth twisted up as though he was going to laugh at the pain when she gave up and clawed at him. "Say please, and I'll be nice to you."

Once more, she saw past him, into that place where they were something, _meant_ something far greater than their bodies entwined on twisted, sweaty sheets. And she won, or he submitted; or else the two were one and the same, and Spain he bit her lower lip and held her down by her shoulders. But he gave her what she wanted, rocked his hips against hers in a rhythm she could count out, until she was spent, wrung out with pleasure.

"Please," Austria said.

"Please?"

He still moved slow in her, far less fluid than he'd been not a minute before, his eyes unfocused. So she spread her legs wide as she could and lifted her arms a little. If she'd been human, her shoulders would have been bruised from his grip. He took the hint, however, and let her go in favor of sinking into her embrace -- and then he simply _took_ her, rough once more. And though every oversensitized inch of her skin complained at the fresh, agonizing wave of sensation, he needed this. He spent himself quickly, panting into her mouth through a kiss and palming at one of her breast.

Then he sagged. She only barely managed to roll him off of her. When she sat up, she saw one of his arms dangling off of the bed, fingertips skimming the floor.

Austria picked up the hand that rested on his chest and kissed his knuckles, one at a time.

"Ah," he said, running the back of his hand over her cheek. " _I'm_ supposed to do that to _you_."

"If one more person tells me my hands are beautiful, I shall scream," she said, "and scream, until my fit is legend, and the tale of it is told to scare small children into obedience."

Spain beamed. "You hurt my heart, querida."

The unwelcome sincerity of the endearment snapped Austria out of the moment of intimacy. _This will not do_. "I'll require a bath." She avoided his attempt to pull her down next to him and forced her shaking legs to be steady as she slid off of the end of the bed and walked to the table to look at the breakfast table. Sweet things, and a still-warm pot of coffee, or tea. "A bath, and a new chemise to replace the one you ripped last night. _Ripped_ , Spanien, honestly, we are not -- "

She didn't realize he'd snuck up on her until she felt the heat of him as he hauled her back against him. She forgot what she'd meant to say, if she had, in fact, meant to say anything at all. "Pretend," he said. "Pretend we're human. Just for the visit. Stop worrying."

"The house in Sevilla has a harpsichord." His palm rested over her belly, but ventured no farther south. "I want to hear you play it."

"I want you to let me go," she said, and he did, taking a long step away from her so she could turn around and face him. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, saw her hair wild and cheeks flushed pink from their -- exertions -- and forced herself to look at Spain. "We'll eat breakfast like civilized people."

Not even the weight of centuries could smother the boyish light in his eyes when he said, "Naked?"

"Yes," Austria said. It was a mistake, another mistake, and she didn't _care._ "Naked."


End file.
